This story begins with probably the weirdest thing I have seen on my block in the last 30 years.

Just before I go to bed, I go outside and check the cars to make sure they’re locked, and maybe stand out at the end of the driveway for a minute enjoying the sounds and smells of the wee hours. One night, I heard some kind of chanting coming from down the block. Standing under a streetlight was someone in a large bright orange costume doing the chanting and weaving back and forth. Well, when the person noticed I was watching, he or she headed off down the block at a fast walk. I followed. Just a few houses down, the orange creature went into a rent house.

I had been expecting them to return to some party, but there didn’t seem to be anything going on at the house.

Being a person who likes to solve mysteries — OK, I’m a little nosy — I started paying attention to the house. The windows were all papered over on the inside. The two-car garage had been converted, and there were two small windows in the wall — one for each room inside.

On one particularly nice morning, I had gone out for a stroll. In front of me on the sidewalk was an elderly Hispanic woman who seemed to be knitting something while she walked. I commented on the colorful patterns, and she gave me that polite but blank smile that told me she didn’t understand. We both lamented the lack of communication with a collective shrug and a smile and I went on my way ahead of her — and that’s when I passed the mystery house.

The front door was wide open. Inside, the living room had a few booths and tables, like you would see at a small cafe, on one side of the room and chairs lined up along the wall on the other side. There were a few people sitting around with what appeared to be their belongings at their feet. They were waiting for something. After I passed, I looked back for the old woman and saw her going into the house.

Then, a big, new, shiny, white passenger van drove up and parked in the driveway. The people from the house got inside and left.

Was I looking at what was essentially a bus stop on an immigrant network of some kind?

I caught sight of the big van coming to the house a couple more times over the next few weeks. I saw more people leave, but never noticed how they arrived, and still don’t know.

I had a decision to make. Should I be a good citizen and report this suspicious activity to some authorities somewhere, or should I be a good neighbor and keep my nose out of other people’s business? Well, the decision was made for me.

Driving past the house one day, I saw that the booths and tables had been broken down and were out on the curb. Soon, a For Sale sign appeared in the yard. So, the bus stop was no more — nothing left to report.

I tried to think back to the last time I remembered a family in the house to try to determine how long it had been a bus stop, but a rental house in a lower-middle-class neighborhood just doesn’t draw much attention, which may be why it was used like that for a time. Who knows?

The whole event still intrudes on my thoughts occasionally, and I wonder about just how many subcultures exist around us that we never notice. Who were those people? Where did they come from and where were they going?

The world can be a fascinating place if you pay attention.

Jim Barnhart of Lewisville is a writer and a Community Voices volunteer columnist. His email address is barnhart.jim@gmail.com.

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